That day was today.
But coming here didn’t seem so happy right now. Jeremy was getting more upset by the moment. If only it would get light, then everything would be better. The dark made him think Alana had climbed into his trunk, that he was actually bringing her with them just when he figured he was finally going to get away from her.
“What if you run out of gas, Jeremy?” Claire interrupted his thoughts. “We’ll be stranded out here. Do you know where we are? Or where we’re going?”
There’s no such thing as zombies.
“Are you listening?”
He had to say something or she’d keep asking. “Sh-shut up. I c-can’t think.” He didn’t like talking to her that way, but she was making everything worse. She didn’t like him anymore; he could hear it in her voice. She sounded more like Leanne than Claire.
And what if she was right about gas? He’d been pretty low to begin with and he hadn’t brought any extra. Not only that, but his stomach was already growling. What were they going to eat? He’d watched TV shows where people disappeared into the wilderness but he couldn’t remember what they ate, other than game, and he wasn’t much of a hunter.
He thought of the huckleberries that grew wild in the area. Tourist stores in Kalispell, Pineview and Libby sold huckleberry jam, huckleberry lotion, huckleberry chocolate, even huckleberry fudge. That meant there had to be a lot of berries. But would they be able to find them? What if the bears had eaten them all?
And what if those bears were still hungry?
The scars he’d seen on Isaac’s arm popped into his mind. Don’t think of bears. Don’t think of Isaac, either. Isaac’s dead. But Jeremy didn’t really want him to be dead. Isaac had been nice to him. In school, he’d stopped other people who were saying mean things and pushing him.
“Jeremy, please,” Claire said. “If you care about me, take me home. I want to go home.”
“You can’t go home.” This much he knew. “It’s not safe. I’m doing you a favor. I’m trying to protect you.”
“From what? Or whom? Why isn’t it safe to go home?”
She had that irritation in her voice, the kind his father used to have. He hated it. Did he hate her, too?
No! This was Claire. He loved Claire.
He hit the steering wheel and the pain actually felt good because he could tell it was real when nothing else seemed to be. Was he having a bad dream? Would he wake up any second?
He prayed he would.
“Jeremy?”
He swallowed. “What?”
“Why isn’t it safe to go home?”
“You know why,” he said. “My father killed your mother. Then he hired Les Weaver to kill David. You don’t want to be next, do you?”
“Is he the one who attacked me at my mother’s studio?” she asked. “Attacked you?”
“Pushed me down?”
“No, that was me. I—I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just wanted to see what you were doing. And I said I was sorry.”
“You said— Oh, I remember. You apologized at Hank’s.” She made a funny laugh, but she was right. He had apologized there.
“See?” he said. “You do remember.”
“Have you been following me a lot?”
“Whenever I can.”
“That’s a little too honest to make me feel better.”
“How can it be too honest?”
“Never mind. I sort of knew. You show up wherever I go. It just happened so often and for so long I quit paying attention.”
After a few seconds, she laughed again.
“What is it?” he asked.
“This is unfair. You know that, don’t you?”
“My dad says nothing’s ever fair.”
“You told me your father’s dead, that he killed himself. Is that true?”
“Yes.”
“What about Les Weaver? Do you think he could’ve killed your dad?”
“No. I saw what happened. He pulled the trigger right in front of me. Most of his head flew off and hit the wall. He was going to kill me instead. I don’t know why he didn’t.”
This unemotional reporting added to Claire’s discomfort. “But why would he take his own life?”
“Someone named George told him to do it.”
“George who?”
“I’ve never met him. It’s someone who killed his own dog. Not a very nice person.”
There was a brief silence. Then she said, “Could it be that you were holding the gun?”
“Me? Oh, no. I didn’t kill him.” She kept asking about that. Why?
“And there’s no way you could be mistaken?”
Jeremy was getting confused again. “No. George told him to do it, like I said. I saw it.” He hit a rut, which pulled the car hard to one side. He screamed but managed to stay on the road. Then he slowly crept forward because he didn’t want to get into a wreck. What Claire had said about running out of gas worried him, too. But he wouldn’t need gas if they were going to live here, would he?
He didn’t think so. Maybe he should run out of gas. Then Claire couldn’t leave him while he was sleeping.
Turning onto yet another dirt road, this one even rougher than the ones before, he maneuvered as best he could while pine trees scratched the sides of the car.
“Why would your father kill my mother?” she asked.
“I don’t know. It was a long time ago.”
“Okay…if he paid Les to kill David, where’d he get the money?”
Jeremy struggled to come up with the answer, but his father didn’t tell that part. His father got mad whenever Jeremy asked about Les.
But then it came to him. All the calls he’d overheard. His father pleading for a loan, saying he needed it to save their house from the bank—although Jeremy wasn’t sure how a bank could come after a house. “Your father gave it to him.”
“Tug? He wanted David killed?”
“No. Why would he want that?”
“To hide the fact that he’d killed my mother.”
“But he didn’t kill your mother. My dad did.”
“You said Tug and Roni were having an affair.”
“They were.”
“So why did your dad kill David? Because Tug told him to?”
All the questions were giving him a headache. “No…”
“You’re not making any sense, Jeremy.”
“I’m trying to be nice, Claire. I’m trying to tell you what I know.” Even though he was so hungry and tired he couldn’t think straight. “You want me to tell you what I know, don’t you? I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time.”